


Era of the Ashfall

by Tanadin



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cultists, Drakeriders, Elves, F/F, Fantasy, Graphic depictions of what magic does to you (warning: it's not pretty), Magic, Multi, Necromancy, Uhhh local gays fight each other over whose flag gets put on a hill, drakes, you know the usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-07 13:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15219893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanadin/pseuds/Tanadin
Summary: On Marteria, nothing stays stable for long. Factions of drakeriders vie for control over the same pieces of land, swearing that they have a right to piles of stones and swathes of grass. Magic tears caster apart just as surely as target, just as efficiently as a drake's claw or a rider's blade. Elves perform dark rituals in the forest, sacrificing blood to their god-tree and plotting their next strike against the warring humans. Things have been this way for eras, stretching back as far as records will go.Then, electrical spires of iron reach their baleful claws into the sky, striking drakes down with manufactured storms. The Keepers, librarians and holders of the largest library in the world, are attacked and driven out of their homes by riders on drakes of bone and lightning, led by a flaming man with a hollow voice. A low-ranking squad of drakeriders refuses to sit idly by.The dominos started to fall in the middle of the Fourth Era. Now, it is the Fifth, and it may be too late to stop them before they topple into the flames that could consume the world.





	1. Storms Building

Capital City, Xellion. February 15, 5E097. Time instance 642L.

Wind swept past Lyune and she let out a whoop, holding her arms above her head with her fists clenched. The clouds rushed down towards her, or so it seemed as Skar tore upwards through the sky, each wingbeat throwing them towards the heavens.

Once the air began to chill around them, Lyune lowered her arms and took a hold of the straps around Skar’s neck, tugging at them and giving a verbal command. He leveled out, flapping several times more before spreading his wings and soaring evenly on the winds. His shadow’s distinctive shape passed over the plains south of Capital City, the triangular wings unique to firebomb drakes practically a calling card in this area. His fiery scales and friendly blue eyes were always a welcome sight to the farmers outside of the city, and despite his breed’s usual temperament, most of the children loved him.

A shadow fell over them and Lyune glanced up to catch sight of Almasi passing overhead, daring to reach closer to the clouds. Almasi was a significantly smaller drake than Skar, only about thirty feet long, but she made up for it in attitude. Her green scales stood out against the gray-white of the clouds, whiplike tail keeping balance with easy swaying motions unlike most other drakes in flight.

As Lyune watched, Almasi dipped her wings and dove towards them, leveling out to their right and a few feet up. Her green eyes, brighter than any of her scales, even those on her belly, sparkled and she snorted a greeting. Lyune’s focus wasn’t on Almasi, however, as she was too busy looking at her rider.

Celestis always looked stunning when flying, especially when she forwent the helmet as she did now. Her short brown hair rushed back with the wind and her eyes portrayed her constant excitement when in the air, brown irises alight with joy. While the standard-issue riding leathers were not the most flattering clothing that Celestis owned, Lyune thought that she looked perfectly fine and that all of her complaints were unnecessary.

“Lovely day for flying!” Celestis shouted over the wind, and Lyune nodded in agreement. Celestis grinned and called a verbal command to speed up. Almasi snorted, nodding her head once and displaying her two long green horns before surging forward.

“We can’t let that beanpole outfly us! C’mon, Skar!” Lyune mimicked Celestis’ signal and Skar surged ahead, quickly catching up and coming up even beside them. Skar’s heavy breathing indicated that he was near his maximum speed and couldn’t keep this up for much longer, while Almasi’s slim frame showed no strain at all. Sleeper drakes were known for their speed, and while they weren’t breaking any records they could usually move faster than a firebomb drake.

They flew like that until Skar began to lag behind, at which point Lyune had him slow and descend for a landing. Almasi followed not far behind, making unnecessarily wide circles as Celestis watched Skar land. He folded his wings neatly along his sides, as he always did, and waited for Lyune to dismount before lying down. The crimson patterns on his lighter red scales were easier to see when not on his back, as they started under the saddle and moved out in lightning-like stripes along his sides. His horns were shorter and thicker than Almasi’s, and had two smaller sets leading up to them. The arrowhead at the end of his tail matched the dark red of his horns, something he proved as he curled up.

Almasi finally came in for a landing, touching down with no apparent effort and little sound. Her gaunt, skeletal face had been frightening the first time she had pulled off such a maneuver without warning, but now Lyune feared nothing about her. Where Skar was built for combat and fancy maneuvers, Almasi was built for speed and her accurate breath weapon.

Almasi waited patiently for Celestis to jump off before lying down as well, although she didn’t lower her head and seemed content to gaze at the plains around them. She always seemed calculating, although she wasn’t nearly as threatening as she looked.

Lyune pulled off her helmet and set it on the ground next to Skar. “You almost ran me out of the sky, there.”

“I think I did,” Celestis grinned. “I noticed that you landed first.”

“Probably because you spent time showboating around. Almasi can make tighter circles than that.”

“Ye-es, but she looks better when they’re wider.”

Lyune rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Celestis bumped her with her shoulder. “And you’re not?”

Skar snorted and Lyune shot him a withering look. “I don’t need your sass right now, sir.”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t reply.

Almasi caught their attention with a quiet alert sound, one that indicated that she saw something unusual but not necessarily threatening. They both turned to see when she was staring at and Lyune could feel her eyes widening.

Dozens of ice-blue drakes descended upon Capital City, vanishing beyond the walls shortly before landing. Several had been bandaged and others carried multiple riders, but the damage was hard to see at a distance.

“Ice drakes!” Celestis whispered. “Ice drakes, here! But why?”

“Nothing good,” Lyune muttered, putting her helmet back on and clicking her tongue. Skar grumbled but got to his feet, lowering himself to let Lyune climb up into the saddle. “I’d bet my last coin that those are affiliated with the Keepers. Who else has that many ice drakes?”

“What would so many Keepers be doing here, though?” Celestis asked, climbing up onto Almasi’s back. “This didn’t look like a social visit. Do you think they’ve been attacked?”

Lyune shivered. “I hope not, but I intend to find out.” She barked the command for Skar to take off, and with a powerful flap of his wings they were airborn. They sped back towards Capital City, Almasi keeping pace beside them the whole way.

Their suspicions were confirmed by the number of wounded at the landing pads. Both drakes and riders were heavily bandaged, very few escaping injury entirely. Several of the city’s medics were already on the scene, but Lyune suspected that there were more on their way.

Lyune caught the eye of the nearest uninjured drake rider and approached him, noting with a sick feeling the insignia of the Keepers on his chest. “What happened?”

“We were attacked.” He shivered, rubbing his forearms. “At the crack of dawn, skeletal drakes came down the mountainside. They… they killed _everyone._ A kirinax on the back of the biggest drake told them to let us go when we fled, but I don't know why. We flew until the drakes couldn’t fly another mile, then we camped for as long as we dared. We’ve been traveling nonstop since.”

Celestis’ eyes darkened. “Do you know who did this?”

“N-no. Analia might, but she hasn’t spoken much since the attack. She went to speak to your leaders. I guess you’ll hear from them.”

Lyune nodded and thanked him, turning away to head down the stairs to the streets below. Celestis hurried ahead and slid in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. Celestis frowned, looking into her eyes, brown to green and freezing Lyune in place.

“You’re going to eavesdrop on the Council, aren’t you?”

“Of course. How else am I supposed to find out anything?”

“Wait until they tell you what you need to know, maybe?”

Lyune snorted. “Like they tell us low-ranking squads anything. Are you coming or not?”

Celestis hesitated, then sighed and stepped out of her way. “Fine, but just to keep you out of trouble.”

Lyune grinned and bumped her elbow. “Now _that’s_ the spirit.”

Celestis shook her head, trailing after Lyune as she shot off down the stairs. “You’re going to get us kicked out of the Wings one day.” Lyune glanced over her shoulder to wink before focusing on racing down the stairs without falling. Celestis continued, _“Or_ you’ll get us killed!”

“I won’t get us killed!” Lyune protested, bursting through the door at the bottom of the stairs. She held it open for Celestis to pass through before letting it shut. Cobblestones she’d walked over a thousand times passed underfoot as they slipped through the crowds of Capital City’s streets, climbing the hill to the council chambers that looked far more like a castle or very fat tower than any of the council were willing to admit.

A guard stopped them as they reached the gate leading into the district of the city with the most vital buildings, which were all clumped together in what Lyune thought was an _incredibly_ easy target to hit. She showed him the badge on her riding leathers and he waved her past, checking Celestis the same way before looking satisfied. Lyune led Celestis between the buildings and to the side of the council chambers, wasting no time in grabbing a handhold on the rough stone wall and hauling herself up.

Celestis sighed but wasn’t far behind.

Lyune reached the first-level roof before Celestis did, pausing to help her up before turning to the window. The building rose for another few floors, but its base was wider than the rest of it, making it look like a large rectangle that someone had smacked a tower into the center of as an afterthought. Celestis always berated her for her derogatory descriptions of what the council chambers looked like, but she did usually admit that Lyune wasn’t _wrong._

Lyune scrambled up the wall to her customary window, pushing the glass open and crawling through. She carefully judged her fall and dropped onto a beam along the wall, just under the window, and cringed as her knees cried out in pain. The main chamber rose for the first two floors through most of the building except for the very back, so as long as nobody looked up, Lyune had a prime viewing-and-eavesdropping location. Granted, if anyone _did_ look up, it would be impossible _not_ to spot her, but she had discovered that people rarely looked up unless given a reason to.

Celestis dropped down onto the beam beside her, almost as practiced as she was, and Lyune took a moment to admire her face (even if she looked a bit irked) before turning her attention to the room below.

Paladin Kavalar Scorchwing, leader of the Vanguard Council, was unsurprisingly in his center seat, sitting rigidly upright with his eyes wide open. His shock of black hair looked unkempt, as if he had been awoken by the news of the ice drakes arriving and hadn’t had time to get ready for the day yet. The eight members of the council sat in a semicircle, four on each side of Kavalar, and facing them all was a single injured woman, dressed in stylized riding leathers with the insignia of the Keepers emblazoned both on her chest and on her shoulder. An angry red cut carved its way up the right side of her face, stopping just short of her eye. Her brown hair was cut short and was even more disheveled than Kavalar’s.

“You expect us to believe that you were attacked by _undead drakes?”_ one of the council members asked incredulously. Lyune identified him as Murkon, and subconsciously twisted her face into a snarl. He was an unpleasant human being that she wasn’t keen to listen to.

“If I had reports of them, then I’m sure you did too,” the women, who must have been Analia, leader of the Keepers, said stiffly. “I received those reports from trustworthy riders, but I hadn’t been sure that they’d seen the drakes clearly.” Her voice dripped with freezing venom. “They had.”

“Miss Sarmer, do-”

“You will refer to me as Headmaster,” she snarled, “or you won’t refer to me at all.”

Murkon laced his fingers together. “Headmaster,” he said with disdain, “do you have any idea how few people even _risk_ necromancy, nevermind on such a large scale? No one could sustain so many constructs, especially not if they charged them with electricity as you say they have.”

“Regardless of what attacked the Keepers, they need our help,” another council member interjected. “They were murdered in their own homes and forced to leave their library behind. Anyone who is willing to attack the Keepers for knowledge should not be allowed to have it.”

“Then they shouldn’t have fled,” Murkon challenged.

The other council member rose in her seat. “They had no choice! You-”

“Council!” Kavalar roared. The room immediately fell silent, and he swept a disgusted look around the semicircle. “Would you leave me alone with the Headmaster, please?”

With a few unhappy mumbles, the council members stood up and filed out of the room, their extravagant robes a sharp contrast to the Headmaster’s bloody leathers and bandaged wounds.

As soon as the door shut behind the council, Kavalar slumped in his seat, holding his face in his hands. Analia took several steps forward, and Kavalar audibly groaned when she stopped.

“What am I supposed to do, Analia?”

“Give my people refuge. Hunt down the Xevallvaer.”

“You know I can’t do either of those things.”

Analia bared her teeth and took a step forward. “Why not, Kavalar? The Vanguard Council is prospering. You have control over _all_ of Xellion. Surely you have enough space to house us and enough riders to go out there and beat those raiders into the snow.”

“It’s not a matter of whether or not the Vanguard Council _can,_ it’s a matter of if the council will _let_ me.” Kavalar sighed and looked up at her, suddenly looking ten years older. He was only thirty, but Lyune knew that his hair was already beginning to gray. “I only have so much power as Paladin, Analia. It’s all politics. If I ask to send a Wing to Skethor, Murkon will try to cite it as me caring more about other factions than-”

“To _hell_ with your politics! My people _died_ back there! Those raiders _have our library!”_

“And I’m _sorry,_ Analia-”

“What happened to defending us when we needed it? We _came here_ because you promised me that you’d protect us!”

“That was ten years ago! Things _change-”_

“Clearly,” Analia snarled, the hatred in her voice almost visible. “So do people. So do _you.”_

“I’m afraid I can only offer you shelter for so long. The council-”

“Damn you _and_ your council.”

“Analia-”

“We won’t help you when they come for you,” Analia said coldly. “The knowledge in that library could destroy you.”

Kavalar paled. “What kind of things do you have in there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Analia turned her back to him. “We will stay for a week. Then we will leave.”

“Wait, An-”

“It’s Headmaster Sarmer to you, Paladin.” She glanced over her shoulder. “So much for protecting those in need. The Vanguard Council has clearly fallen from its historic roots.”

Her shoes clicked with finality on the stone floor.

Kavalar slumped in his seat, and once Analia was gone, he rested his face in his hands, looking as awful as he must have felt and as ancient as the earth beneath them.

Lyune and Celestis exchanged wide-eyed glances before climbing up the wall and through the window. Neither of them spoke until they had left the district, passing the guard and moving back into the busy streets.

“Skystones!” Celestis swore. “What the _hell_ was that?”

“I don’t know,” Lyune muttered, “but it isn’t something we should talk about here.”

“The barracks?”

“Too crowded.” Lyune grabbed her arm and steered her back towards the tower they’d descended earlier. “Get Almasi. We need to get out of the city.”

Celestis nodded silently and followed, her head undoubtably spinning as much as Lyune’s was.

 _Undead drakes!_ While necromancy was very much real, as far as Lyune knew, it would be impossible to raise an entire _squad_ of undead that large, especially if they had any kind of magical abilities. If the Keepers were making it up- and Lyune didn’t think they were- they sure hadn’t done a good job making it _sound_ believable.

The very notion that someone had attacked the Keepers was almost as ridiculous, but they sure hadn’t flown their entire faction, exhausted, tired, and bloodied, across an ocean for fun. Lyune shivered as she pulled herself up into Skar’s saddle and gave the command for him to take off. His sweeping wings carried them upwards, and once Almasi was in the air, Lyune steered him away from the city and urged him to fly, back out into the plains over which they’d been flying only fifteen or thirty minutes before.

Anger gripped her. Kavalar had _refused_ to help the Keepers, without even _asking_ the council! He’d just _assumed,_ and for something as stupid as _politics-_

Almasi drew level with Skar and Celestis shot her a look that reflected every emotion rolling through Lyune, but fear was more prevalent than anger. She knew that Celestis wanted to talk about it- they both _needed_ to- but she couldn’t bring herself to try to shout over the wind or force Skar to land. She made him put on speed that Almasi matched easily, leaning forward and almost pressing herself to the hot scales of his neck. He glanced up at her, reading her mood, but continued to fly.

Lyune didn’t know how long they stayed up there, letting the fields around Capital City race by underneath them. Almasi flew beside them the whole while, Celestis staring grimly ahead and only occasionally glancing at Lyune, seeking signs of stopping.

She found none, until Skar’s heavy breathing shifted Lyune out of her hyper-focused state. Guilt welled in her chest and she signaled for him to land, which he did immediately and gratefully. He slumped to the ground, sides heaving, the moment she was off of his back, and let his tongue roll out his mouth.

Almasi was barely any better, breathing heavily and letting her wings droop to the grass below as she struggled to catch her breath. Lyune sat several yards away, turning her back to the drakes as if to erase their discomfort. Celestis sat beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder, eyes as steady as ever.

“He won’t help them,” she finally ground out, the syllables clawing their way from between her teeth.

“He won’t,” Celestis agreed. “But what can _we_ do about it? We’re just two drakeriders. We have no status. We just...have to accept it.”

“I _can’t_ accept it. We have to-”

“We have to _what_ , Lyune? Attack the undead drakes ourselves? Rally the Keepers to strike back at the people that almost _killed_ them? Neither of us have been trained in magic, and most of the Keepers haven’t, either. Clearly their attackers _are!_ They’re powerful necromancers, and probably combat mages to boot! _Think!”_

“I _am_ thinking!”

“You’re _raging._ There’s a difference.” Celestis gripped Lyune’s shoulder tightly. “It’s unthinkable! I know it is! The _idea_ that there’s someone with the ability to raise an _army_ of undead and uproot an entire faction is _terrifying!_ Don’t you think I’m scared shitless?” Lyune glanced over at her and saw the fear rolling behind her eyes, almost certainly reflected in her own.

Lyune swallowed. “The Keepers have been ousted, we can’t, _won’t_ do anything, and- and…” She shivered. “Those people- those _drakes-_ are out there, they have the library, and they know what the Keepers know.”

Celestis nodded grimly. Lyune hoped that she’d have something more to say, something encouraging, but she remained silent.

They stayed there until dusk.


	2. Antiquity

Valley of the Keepers, Skethor. February 15, 5E097. Time instance 642L.

It was late when the rolling white mountains of Skethor dropped down into the valley, torches burning merrily along wooden pathways and the entrances of caves. Lora sighed in quiet relief and directed her surge drake towards the others on the ground near the central tower. It was the only building to touch the ground directly other than the large, boxy structure that was almost certainly the hatchery. The others were sustained with wooden pillars and supports, clinging to the walls of the valley more often than the bottom. Caves dotted the stoney walls, normally occupied with ice drakes that were now empty. One or two contained surge drakes, but they were few and far between, and the drake she identified as belonging to Malfos sat, unmoving, at the entrance to the library.

Even from above the valley, Lora could see the enormous wooden  _ gates _ that led into the library. On one of the doors, a smaller, human-sized entrance had been carved, currently shut and likely unlocked. An aerial wooden pathway connected it directly to the tower, and Lora couldn’t help but notice that the tower’s snow-covered roof seemed to be made of  _ ice, _ denser and bluer than any she’d ever seen before. A cursory inspection of the hatchery led her to realize that there were ledges-  _ nests- _ made of the same icy material frozen securely to its exterior walls as well as the roof.

This place was bizarre, but beautiful, in its own frigid way. The cold wormed its way through her coat and she shivered, willing her drake to land. The amulet around her neck glowed, and the surge drake’s skeletal wings adjusted to take them down. Its change in flight along with her shivers sent her bones grating uncomfortably, and she fancied that she could hear a groan of protest as they moved against each other.

She wasn’t old by any means, only thirty-five, but necromancy took its toll, as all magic did. The viciousness of the cold convinced her to not stay long in the Valley of the Keepers before returning to Gale Lake, or, better, the Prime Spire.

_ At least it’s always warm in the Prime Spire, _ she thought ruefully as she pushed open the door and stepped inside the tower. Two Xevallvaer guards saluted her from where they sat between the exterior and interior doors, allowing her to pass inside unhindered.

She stepped into a room as large as the tower would permit, filled with wooden tables and chairs. A small setup for food distribution ran along the rightmost wall, which had been cheerfully occupied by the Xevallvaer. Her stomach growled and she decided that Malfos wouldn’t expect her for another hour, at least, and that she could afford to eat.

She stepped up to the counter and the man behind it immediately nodded to her, scurrying to finish what he was working on. “One moment, Mistress of Bone.” He dumped the last of the food into the bowl and set it on the counter, where it was taken by a woman who looked as ravenous as Lora felt. He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “I confess I am surprised to see you here. You did not partake in the battle.”

“I did not,” Lora confirmed. “My talents are best served off the battlefield and away from danger.”

“Of course, Mistress of Bone. What would you like to eat?”

“Something warm. I’ve been flying north for four days and it’s  _ frigid _ out there.”

“Would a stew be acceptable?”

“More than acceptable.”

The man smiled and dipped his head, shuffling off to prepare her food. Lora zoned out, tracing darker paths in the grain of the wood that made up the walls of the tower. It was impressively built, for something made of wood, and kept out the cold surprisingly well. She wondered dimly if it was enchanted, but nothing shimmered or jumped out at her, so she chalked it up to good architecture. 

She thanked the man for the stew when he handed it to her and sat down at a small table on the far side of the room, away from everyone else. She ate contemplatively, enjoying the warmth that spread through her core and the taste of meat that wasn’t the tough jerky she had in her pack of rations.

She returned the bowl to the counter once finished and climbed up the stairs to the next floor of the tower, which contained more seating and tables. One group of people seemed intent on a game involving the rolling of dice and lots of shouting over the results, leading to a woman sitting behind some short wooden panels to cackle maniacally.

Lora slowly shook her head and climbed to the next floor. This one was devoid of people, with two doors leading out with signs listing places that one could get to by following the pathways outside. A notice board was set up in the center of the room, listing several competitive events that the Keepers were known to run. The schedule and leaderboards had been wiped clean.

She took a deep breath before climbing a shorter set of stairs up to one of the doors and pushing it open. Cold air assaulted her immediately, leading her to hurry outside onto the pathway and shut the door behind her. The massive doors of the library loomed ahead, and she scurried across the pathway as quickly as she dared this high in the air. The thick, tall guardrails certainly would have been enough to catch her, but she hadn’t lived this long by being careless.

She passed Malfos’ surge drake without a second glance and opened the smaller door, happy to find it unlocked. She stepped inside and gratefully shut it behind her, sealing off the frigid air and allowing the warmth of the library to soothe her freezing skin.

She looked around and her jaw dropped.

She’d known that the Keepers had the largest library in the world, but she hadn’t expected something so  _ enormous. _

She was on a single floor of the library, a wooden pathway ringing the center of the first section of the room, taller than the rest of the library by an entire floor. Bookshelves built into the walls stretched to the ceiling, magical lanterns shining gentle, but bright, light down on the area around them. Wheeled ladders remained here and there along the walls, secured to the bookshelves to prevent them running off-course. Stairs built into the wall and permanent ladders led down to the larger pathway around the bookshelves below- which was double the size of the current pathway she was on, as it went all the way around the entire library- and, below that, the bottom floor, patterned with lights almost identical to the lanterns.

Lora wondered where they got their energy. Certainly the Keepers weren’t keeping them going anymore. 

A guard saluted her, then asked her business here. When she raised an eyebrow, he hastily added, “We’re not supposed to let just anyone into the library yet. The Stormlord wants to make sure that there’s nothing in here that he doesn’t want anyone to see.”

“I’m not just anyone, and its the Stormlord himself that I’m looking for.”

“Quite right, Mistress of Bone. I believe he’s on the second floor.” He hesitated. “Down a level. He could be on the bottom floor, since I can’t see him, but it’s hard to tell from here.”

Lora nodded and, without another word, started down the stairs. The ladders were faster, and wouldn’t run the risk of her bumping her head on the low stone underside of upper bookshelves, but she wasn’t about to try and make her aching bones and frozen muscles go through such a thing.

Besides, she’d stumble on her cloak, and that was  _ never _ dignified.

She reached the lower pathway that ringed the library and almost immediately caught sight of Malfos. She walked evenly, not bothering to rush and allowing the quiet echoing of her footsteps to disturb him if he wasn’t too deep in thought. The library opened up more once she was out from under the second pathway (third floor, she supposed), stretching two or three times farther back and by about a third of its width on each side. She paused occasionally when she glimpsed an interesting book and noted the sophisticated organization system that she had no hope of deciphering without a crash course or a cheat sheet.

Every library had a different system of organization and it was starting to get on her nerves.

She approached Malfos where he sat- perched, more like- on a wooden seat, one clawed foot dangling and the other resting on the seat, knee against his chest. The dark talons on his hands gripped an ancient, but well cared for, book as if it was his very salvation. The cover was blank, ancient leather cracked with age but carefully looked after since. The ashen flames that wreathed his body passed harmlessly over both the book and the seat. The dull red that outlined his facial features held steady as he focused, the flames of his eyes darting haphazardly across the page, seeking out understanding instead of reading. The lantern above him was slightly brighter than any other in the library, and brightened further when she approached.

She stopped several feet from him, crossing her arms and waiting as he slowly lowered the book and flicked his eyes up to her. It was hard to tell where he was looking, as her only indicators were two near-ovals of flickering maroon fire, but she could  _ feel _ his eyes meet and bore into hers.

“Quite the place, isn’t it?” she asked when he didn’t immediately speak. When his face shifted and head tilted slightly in what she knew was the equivalent of a raised eyebrow, she continued, “I assume you’ve found what you’re looking for, based on how  _ embedded _ you are in that book.”

A rattling sigh fell from Malfos’ mouth, flames parting briefly to show sharp teeth as black as the rest of him underneath his ashen shell. “Tell me, Lora.” His voice was low, hollow, and rough, like rocks being ground together down a vast tunnel. “If you were the leader of an immense faction, and you were in the habit of keeping journals, journals that detailed every vital moment of the hardest part of your life, would you make them easy to find?”

“No.”

“And, if they were found, how would you write them? Would they be easy to read?”

“Don’t play games.” A brief flash of incredulousness flashed across his face- a look that few would see and fewer would identify- before it faded. She was one of perhaps five people that could speak to him this way and she intended to revel in every second of it. “Did you find it or not?”

Malfos made a disgusted noise and tossed the book onto the table beside him, allowing the pages to come into view, covered with indecipherable symbols and markings.  _ “Yes, _ I found it! The Keepers had it, as I suspected.” He drew a breath, and Lora awaited the catch. “But the damn thing’s written in a code even the  _ Keepers _ haven’t managed to crack, even in the hundreds of years they’ve  _ had _ it!  I can’t read them, no one can, and I’m  _ furious _ that I didn’t think of it sooner!” Malfos bared his teeth and growled low in his throat, a sound so threatening that it would send most Xevallvaer scrambling over the guardrail.

“Temper. You’ll lose control of your flame and set the room on fire.”

Malfos calmed instantly, ceasing his growling and shifting his leg to join its twin near the floor. “What a waste. All that knowledge,  _ useless. _ If my mother hadn’t  _ burned _ her own journals, or had told me the full story, I’d had never  _ bothered!” _

“We have the library,” Lora reminded him. “Surely they have something of use here. Remember, we got a lot of our ideas for the Iron Spires just off of what one Keeper was recovering. Think of what they could have.”

Malfos’ eyes lit up, maroon brightening momentarily to almost crimson. He reached over and shoved the book back into its place on the shelf, alongside four near-identical leather-bound books. “You’re right. Leave it to a necromancer to make the most out of even a grim situation.” He jumped to his feet. “I want the journals of Sathren Scorchwing removed from the library at once, and copies made of everything that could help in decoding them. They’re to be moved to my quarters in the Prime Spire and not disturbed once there. Once they’re out, other Xevallvaer can come in.”

“Should I do that myself, or can I delegate it to someone else and say I did it?”

Malfos started walking back towards the stairs, Lora not far behind. “I don’t care. Actually, make sure someone else does it. I need someone whose opinions I can trust, and Dyrion is setting up the Iron Spires.”

“They’re progressing well. The one I flew past on the way in looks almost done.”

“Good.” A fierce, familiar grin sent Lora’s prey instincts into a panic, one that she repressed through familiarity and practice. “Good. If the Keepers want their valley, they can come and get it.”

“I’d think it’s more likely that the Vanguard Council will come. They’ll take issue with us doing this, and the Keepers know they don’t have a chance.”

“I don’t doubt that they’ll hear of this and have a problem with it. They may have already heard.” Malfos paused, briefly, then continued walking. “I don’t know whether or not they’ll attack, and that’s one of the things I wanted to ask you. You grew up in Xellion, under the Vanguard Council; do you think they’ll tolerate this?”

“I’m surprised they’ve tolerated it for as long as they have,” Lora told him, shaking her head in slight wonder. “Although it might just be because they don’t believe what they’re hearing. They’re more worried about the elves than any rampant factions on Skethor. What scouts they have are probably not well-distinguished; they’d have those flying around the Spine of Leviathan.”

“What of their scouts disappearing?”

“They probably blame the factions. My guess is that they think something chaotic is going on between various warring factions, ones they don’t care about, so they haven’t bothered to do anything. Now that the Keepers are involved, though, I think we can expect to see more scouts, followed by military action.”

“And the Blackguard?”

Lora snorted, stopping to let Malfos climb a few stairs before following. “I’d be surprised if they even knew we existed. They keep to themselves and only fight those who get too close; you know that.”

“They must be hiding something in Paravon for them to be that defensive.”

“Are we not even worse than they are?”

Malfos stopped, twisting to look over his shoulder, and his mouth split into a grin. “I suppose you’re right. We’re the most defensive faction on Marteria.”

Malfos laughed, continuing up the stairs to the library gates. He stepped outside without even preparing himself for the cold, and Lora made a disgusted sound in her throat. Instead of following him, she tapped the guard on the shoulder and pointed towards Malfos had been sitting.

“In that chair, just behind the corner, there are five leather-bound journals written in an unreadable code. The Stormlord wants those removed from their shelf at once to be prepared for transport to the Prime Spire. He wants copies made of every book that could aid in decoding to also be sent to the Prime Spire.”

The guard bowed. “As you wish, Mistress of Bone.”

“Once those books are off the shelf, the library may be opened to the Xevallvaer.”

He bowed again, and Lora left. She shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her, silently envious of Malfos’ immunity to temperature, and looked up as his surge drake swung its head around to look at her. It had stood, then crouched, allowing Malfos to climb onto its back and into the saddle. He motioned for her to follow, and she reluctantly scrambled up its leg and onto the saddle behind him. It was built to accommodate a driver and a passenger, but that didn’t mean it was comfortable or the same as riding her own drake. Malfos’ was too big and stocky for her tastes, risen from a bronze drake instead of a sleeper like her own.

Malfos radiated little warmth, and she didn’t dare touch him for fear of losing some of her skin if he got too angry with something, but it was enough to keep most of the shivers away. The surge drake stood, turned to get more space, and spread its wings, flinging them into the air at Malfos’ imperceptible command. It flew them above the valley, then turned east, flying over the hatchery and command center to the glacier that had created the valley in the first place, carving its slow way through the mountains.

On top of the glacier perched one of the two or three dozen Keeper watchtowers that ringed the entire valley. The gray stone was carved into large bricks, stacked and cemented together into a short, sturdy structure that could stand up to the elements. A watchfire was set but unlit, and the tower was ominously empty, the top covered in snow and the uppermost floor with its half-walls in a similar state. Portions of the wall were lowered, with snowy cannons- four in total, one in each direction- resting and ready.

Malfos directed his surge drake to land beside it and easily slid off onto the snow-covered ice, claws gripping greedily at the ground below him. He stabilized Lora and kept her from falling as she jumped down, earning an eyeroll, before he pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the bottom floor of the tower.

It was marginally warmer inside, but not by much. A short, steep staircase led up to the next floor, and along the walls ran beds and several storage boxes. The second floor wasn’t much different, but with shuttered windows that allowed guards to peer out, open them by inches, shoot with a bow, and then shut them with minimal risk to themselves. The third floor was the top, covered by the roof except for directly over the watchfire, where there was a hole to allow the smoke to escape. Beside each cannon sat a box filled with cannonballs, and Lora imagined that if the fire was blazing, it wouldn’t be that cold at all.

“If the Vanguard Council are a reasonable threat,” Malfos began, leaning against the half-wall and burying his claws in the snow, “then I was considering setting guards in these watchtowers. Yes, the Iron Spires can keep drakeriders out, but they do little for anything on the ground, and they still have difficulty targeting charger drakes. I think it’s due to the fact that they neither fly nor have any sort of breath weapon. They’re almost entirely nonmagical and we just can’t target them.”

“Or they’re small and too low to the ground,” Lora suggested. “I know we’ve had a hard time hitting Aafon’s chatter drake. Not that he minds. He’s  _ smitten _ with the pest.”

Malfos snorted. “They typically don’t need to scan for things that small, and it would take too much power. Speaking of which, would you like to look at the eastern Iron Spire, near here? It’s more complete than the southern one you passed on the way in, and it might just need its necromantic spark.”

A tired smile pulled at Lora’s face, showing no pleasure and revealing only exhaustion. Her bones complained at the thought but the words that came out of her mouth more resembled agreement.

Malfos shot her a grateful look- fleeting, and she would have thought she’d imagined it if she hadn’t known him for so long. He headed down the stairs, and she followed, ever the fool.


	3. Flying Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a brief stint with the Xevallvaer, we're back to our Vanguard Council duo. We'll stick with them for awhile and get to know the squad before jumping around some more.

 

Capital City, Xellion. February 16, 5E097. Time instance 642L.

“Go to Skethor?” Captain Tygon’s voice was incredulous. “Have you lost your damn mind, Lyune?”

Fury burned in Lyune’s veins, curling her fingers into blazing fists and heating her skin to its boiling point. “We can’t just do nothing,  _ sir. _ The Paladin refuses to act-”

“Then we will stay our hand as well,” Tygon said firmly. “I am  _ not _ leading my squad out across an ocean to fight a group of  _ necromancers! _ Not without orders and backup and  _ certainly _ not on the word of  _ you!” _

“Leaving the Keepers to their fate and their library in the hands of those bandits is wrong, sir!” one of the other squad members, Jaok, protested. “The Keepers hold knowledge that shouldn’t be in the hands of just anyone!”

“That doesn’t  _ matter, _ sun rider! What  _ matters _ is that the Vanguard Council has not been called to act! Squad captains do not act independently of the Council!” He stepped forward and jabbed a finger into Jaok’s chest, dark eyes blackened with anger. “And the Council has! Not! Ordered! Us! To! Go! So we  _ stay here _ until otherwise ordered!” His eyes swept around to the entire squad. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” the squad chorused.

“Good. Now get back to your patrols.” Captain Tygon turned and, without a backwards glance, climbed onto his drake’s back and settled into the saddle. The guardian drake crouched, throwing open its massive wingspan- possibly twice the length of Almasi- and preparing for takeoff. It slammed its wings down, lifting into the air, and quickly gained altitude as it flew back across Capital City and towards the northern wall.

“That doesn’t matter, sun rider,” Jaok mocked under his breath, in a squeaky, high-pitched voice that was nothing like the rumbling of Tygon. His sunset drake snorted in approval and tilted its head up, gazing up at the sky. The rest of the squad snorted or laughed, except Lyune, who kicked at a rock and growled angrily.

Nyma put a hand on her shoulder, making her pause to look up at her. She and Nyma had known each other since they had first been initiated into the drakerider program, so she knew her just as well as Celestis.

“We can’t officially go,” Nyma told her, the old mischievous light entering her eyes. She exchanged a glance with Ivis and winked. “But  _ un _ officially-”

Celestis’ jaw dropped even as Lyune grinned from ear to ear. “No! Tygon would  _ kill _ us!”

“Tygon can kiss my ass,” Jaok announced, and the rest of the squad voiced assent.

“You’re a genius,” Lyune said, grabbing Nyma’s shoulders and shaking her in excitement.

Ivis shook their head. “She’s a genius, now, is she? Last week she was a star-forsaken fool-”

“She  _ was!” _ Lyune protested. “Who volunteers for a stealth mission on a rainbow drake?”

“I do,” Nyma sniffed, “so live with it.”

Celestis sighed. “Look. Guys. We can’t  _ really _ all fly off to Skethor. We can’t abandon our patrol!”

“No one can stay behind if anyone goes,” Lyune fired back. “They’d get the bad end of Tygon’s temper.”

“We’ll  _ all _ get the bad end of Tygon’s temper!”

“Maybe so,” Ivis said, “but at least we’ll have done the right thing.”

The members of the squad exchanged glances. Lyune peered into each of their eyes, seeking judgement, compassion, fear, loyalty,  _ anything. _

Nyma held a mixture of mischief and determination, the look she got when she was breaking the rules for a good reason. Ray’s eyes held trepidation, an uncommon thing for him, but he was steeling himself under the fearful green that gazed out at her. Proxis had her arms crossed, eyes intentionally diverted from everyone else, but Zip hovered protectively behind her, wings tensed and broadcasting Proxis’ decision as clearly as a shouted statement. Laton and Kever were nodding, turning looks towards Hon, who snorted as if he needed convincing.

Ivis and Jaok were decided, as was Dyton. Fortra put a hand on Celestis’ shoulder and slowly shook her head.

“You know they’re going.”

Celestis’ shoulders slumped, then popped back up, and she took an accusing step towards Lyune. She pointed a finger in her face, barely touching her nose, and snapped, “You  _ always _ get me in trouble.”

Lyune grinned innocently. Celestis shook her head. “Almasi will hate me if we get grounded again.”

_ “You’ll  _ hate you if you don’t help.”

Celestis silently nodded assent.

Dyton jerked his head in an additional confirmation. “No sense in waiting, then. We have maps. Navigation. Drakes can hunt, and if everyone is keeping up with their kit-” he shot a look at Kever, who looked a bit sheepish “-we have rations enough to last us until we get to Skethor. We’ll just have to make due with what the drakes hunt up otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to something fresh over our rations,” Jaok mumbled. “Some of this jerky isn’t so good anymore.”

“And this is why we refresh our kits,” Ivis told him.

Dyton grunted, then turned to Lyune. “You good for taking point?”

Lyune blinked and touched a hand to her chest. “Me?”

“You. You called for the mission, and Tygon isn’t going.  _ Someone _ needs to fly point.”

“The wing will be uneven,” Ray protested. “We’ll look ridiculous.”

“And unofficial,” Nyma added. “Dyton, move over to fly right-back. We’ll be down a member, but hopefully no one will notice that we’re missing center-back if we’re balanced. People hardly stop to count drakes anyway.”

“Tygon will know where we’ve gone,” Laton warned, even as he turned and started walking back towards the great form of his guardian drake, Pine. “He may follow us.”

“Good,” Jaok bit out. “He’ll bring backup if he does.”

“They wouldn-”

“If we get attacked by bandit-faction riders in control of the Keepers’ base, they’ll help,” Jaok insisted. “Tygon wouldn’t let us die no matter  _ how _ pissed he is.”

Celestis clicked her tongue and Almasi jumped to her feet, immediately crouching to let her rider climb on. “You’d better know what you’re doing, Lyune,” she warned.

“I don’t,” Lyune said confidently.

“I do,” Ivis insisted. “I’ve flown second with Tygon since the squad formed. We won’t have any navigation trouble.” Proxis, who flew as Tygon’s other second, nodded confirmation.

Lyune looked away from her squad to pull herself up onto Skar’s back, securing the safety strap and settling into the saddle. Her heart pounded in a rhythm between terror and excitement. Her arms felt tingly, light, like they weren’t part of her body, and she fought to keep her legs from bouncing.

She twisted to look over her shoulder as the rest of the squad moved their drakes into position, getting into formation behind her. Trepidation burned in her veins as the riders adjusted their spacing to make up for the change in formation. Behind Lyune and to each side sat Ivis and Proxis, flying second, and behind them, centered, was Laton, whose emotions were hidden by the impassive mask he called a face. Celestis, on the far left, looked like she was having second thoughts about going, but kept Almasi firmly in position.

Lyune forced herself to look forward, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath to calm her heart. “Seconds, are we ready?”

“Ready, Captain,” they chorused, Proxis low and Ivis high in excitement.

“Prepare for takeoff!  _ Vyk!” _ Lyune barked in her best Tygon impersonation. Eleven other voices gave orders to their drakes and twelve pairs of wings lifted and spread, the sound like parchment in the wind. Skar bent his legs as his wings rose, muscles coiling in preparation.

_ “Nen!” _ Lyune’s voice was echoed by the rest of the squad. Skar leaped into the air, wings slamming downwards and buffeting the grass below. The other drakes were right behind him, and when he started forward on the third wingbeat, they followed, twenty-four wings beating on the air.

It was strange seeing only the heads of Rontus to her right and Zip to her left, and not the rest of the squad ahead of her as she had become accustomed to as right-back rider. She shivered, blood running both frigid and boiling, and she raised her head to orient them by the sun.

They were headed north, up the coast of Second Bay. When they reached its furthest northern point, they would turn west, crossing the northern coasts of both First and Second Bay to reach Rounddagger Point at the far end of Xellion. They’d fly north from there until they reached the point where Skethor was the closest to Xellion, and cross the ocean there. Then, they’d be in the frigid mountains of northern Skethor, and they’d have to navigate to the Keeper’s base through the snow and cold.

It was a seven-to-nine-day-long journey, and they’d certainly be found out by day two, if not before then.

Lyune swallowed the lump in her throat and directed Skar north. The squad followed.

They passed Capital City unchallenged, and continued onwards.

Lyune only hoped that they had made the right choice.

~~~

The chill wind of late-winter Xellion burned Celestis’ lungs when she breathed.

They’d been flying all day, up the coast of Second Bay, and she could see the water in the distance to her left. It was too far to look like anything but a frigid blue expanse, but she knew at this time of year that it was unbearably cold but probably didn’t have any ice, not even at the surface. This far north, the warmth of approaching spring didn’t set in until mid-March, but the ocean didn’t care.

Underneath, hills dotted with snow rolled, and to the north, always-snowy mountains loomed. ‘Mountains’ was a strong word for them, especially considering the World Spine that ran through central Xellion and divided it into three pieces, but Celestis supposed it sufficed.

She shivered and shifted in the saddle, pulling her coat tighter around her. She glanced at Nyma, who seemed unbothered, and Ray, who was doing his best to press as much of his body against his drake as he could without falling out of the saddle. His drake, a sunset, produced considerably more heat than Almasi did, and Celestis wondered if drakes that breathed fire were naturally warmer for a reason. Some said that it was because of the fire they held within, but she knew that was nonsense- drakes breathed fire by spraying liquid that ignited upon contact with the air, not releasing it from some ‘fire stomach’ or whatever those unfamiliar with drakes believed.

Almasi rumbled softly as the squad turned slightly, and the reason became apparent as winds swept under her wings. Celestis straightened up and held on as they increased in speed and altitude, but none of the drakes seems perturbed, and soon she relaxed again. She peered across the squad at Lyune and Skar in the point position, flying as if they’d been born for it, and she glanced back at Nyma as if willing her to offer her insight.

Nyma usually had good, if rebellious, ideas, and while this entire expedition was at her suggestion, Celestis wondered if she was sure that it would go well. She wasn’t sure that Lyune could hold up in a leadership position, and Nyma knew her just as well as Celestis did. Her rainbow drake, Havi, looked happy to be soaking up the sun, although the cloud cover was getting thicker and thicker the further north they went and by the time they flew over to Skethor, it would probably cover the sun entirely.

Winter was a miserable time for rainbow drakes, and Celestis wondered once again what had driven Nyma to remain stationed at Capital City upon graduating. She supposed she just wanted to stay with the Sleepsun squad, but Styros, or, better, Port Central, would be a more ideal place for a rainbow drake. They had more sun, over more of the year, and were typically warmer and more humid. Port Central especially was known for its constant sun, although it could be humid in the summer, and the threat of the elves was more imminent than anywhere else.

But there hadn’t been any skirmishes with the elves in a long time, and while trade still wasn’t back on the table- it hadn’t been since before Celestis was born- things seemed to be calming down.

Almasi let out a half-rumble, half-chirping sound as Skar adjusted his wings to start taking them down. The command-  _ “Non zor!” _ \- rippled through the squad, echoed by Celestis, sending them slowly drifting down to the hills below.

Celestis braced herself as Almasi extended her legs and flared her wings, coming in for an easy landing along with the rest of the squad. The drakes folded their wings easily and remained standing at attention, although Havi shot a shifty look at Kever’s Yter.

“It’s almost sunset,” Lyune announced, “and Proxis pointed out that we can camp on this hill.”

Ray scratched the back of his neck. “We’re a bit exposed, aren’t we?”

Proxis shook her head, dismounting. “We’re only a day out of Capital City, and we’re twelve trained drakeriders. There isn’t anything around that would cause problems.”

Lyune nodded and jumped off of Skar’s back as well, the rest of the squad slowly following suit. The drakes relaxed once their riders were off, lounging around or moving a short ways away to sniff at rocks and shrubs. Celestis rubbed Almasi’s shoulder, loosening the straps around her chest and working to get the saddle off. In unfamiliar territory, she would leave it on in case of emergencies, but here, there was no reason to leave her uncomfortable.

Dyton caught her eye as he removed the saddle from Cloudwing’s back, jerking his head to indicate that she should follow him. She nodded, finishing up with Almasi and setting her things on the ground. Almasi let out a satisfied groan and lay down, rolling onto her side and leaving her wings half-extended and flopped haphazardly. Celestis smiled and gave her a fond pat before slipping away to tail Dyton.

He led her a short ways away and down the hill, just out of earshot but visible to anyone who went looking for them. His face was an impassive mask, as always, dull green eyes regarding her carefully. He hadn’t taken his helmet off, so his dark hair was still hidden, and his arms were crossed in their usual position.

He was an efficient, focused, and oftentimes emotionless man. He was a good rider, matching his drake well, and he was easy to get along with but hard to get close to. He had a soft spot for Kever but no one else, and his ability to tune out everything but what he was trying to do had earned him a spot in Tygon’s favorites.

He wasn’t someone that Celestis spent much time speaking to, and she raised an eyebrow as she stopped in front of him.

“What’s this about?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You seem  _ off _ today. It’s noticeable, even from where I’m flying. You’ve looked spacier than usual.” He hesitated, then held out a hand. “I’m asking for the squad: are you okay?”

Celestis took it without hesitation. Everyone in the squad was familiar enough with each other to draw comfort from physical contact, and to have Dyton offer was rare. “Yeah, I’m… fine. It’s just weird breaking the rules  _ this much _ , and to be following  _ Lyune. _ We don’t know what we’re  _ doing.” _

“I know.” His voice was a reassuring rumble, calm as always, whether it was talking one-on-one or ringing out in a combat training scenario. “It’ll turn out okay. Lyune’s flying point well, and she’s familiar with  _ how _ to lead. We’ve all tried it, and she’s good at it. The only reason she’s not flying second to Tygon is because she’s too hot-headed. Ivis is calmer and considers more in their decisions, and Proxis-”

“-is Proxis,” Celestis finished, nodding. “You can’t replace Proxis.”

Dyton nodded sharply. “She’s indispensable.”

Celestic sighed. “I guess you’re right. Things will turn out okay, although we’ll be grounded for  _ years _ when we get back.”

Dyton shrugged. “We’re doing the right thing. That’s what matters.”

Celestis raised an eyebrow. “I thought you liked rules.”

“I do. But sometimes you have to break them.” Dyton turned to gaze back up the hill, at where Lyune swatted at Nyma and ducked under a return swing. “Sometimes, they’re  _ made _ to be broken.”


	4. The Iron Spires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for extreme gore.

 

Rounddagger Point, Xellion. February 21, 5E097. Time instance 642L.

Lyune gazed out across the expanse of ocean left ahead of them, and the faint shape of land on the other side.

Crossing from Xellion to Skethor was dangerous, even here, at Rounddagger Point, where the two continents were closest. It was nearly an entire day of flying, with no chance to land, and if any of the drakes weren’t up to it, they and their rider would die. None of their drakes were built for swimming, especially not in the frigid waters in the northern ocean during February.

“I hate this,” Jaok announced, and most of the squad mumbled assent. Lyune swallowed the trepidation that locked in her throat and squared her shoulders, turning to face them.

“We didn’t ditch our patrols and piss off Tygon just to turn back here. We have to cross.”

“We’ll make it. The winds are in our favor.” Proxis unraveled the scarf from around her neck and held it up to the wind, where it was tugged towards the sea and Skethor beyond. “It’ll be coming back that’s difficult if the wind doesn’t change.”

“It should,” Ivis said confidently, stepping up into her drake’s saddle. “Let’s get going before it does.”

Lyune nodded, once, and met Celestis’ eyes briefly. “Okay, everyone, let’s mount up. We’ve got a lot of flying to do!”

There were a few groans, but no arguments, as everyone climbed up into their saddles, strapped in, and prepared for a long flight.

_ “Vyk!” _ Skar spread his wings and crouched, muscles coiling in anticipation.

_ “Nen!” _ He sprang into the air, wings slamming down to give him as much altitude as possible. The others followed, and as he steadied out in flight, the yellow grass and white sands slipped away in favor of frigid blue water. He gained altitude, extending his wings out as far as they’d go to catch the wind and soar ahead. Lyune tightened her grip on his saddle as cold wind buffeted her, clenching her teeth against the instinctual chatter.

Skar rumbled softly and rose in altitude. Lyune glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the squad, who had kept formation without a problem. Jaok fistpumped, which she mirrored.

On they flew, biting winds seeking and failing to secure their surrender. The ashen cloud that hovered in the skies above Skethor slowly grew, choking out the sun above the southern half of the continent.

Lyune’s mind drifted, as it had so often during the past few days.

Going to Skethor. She knew  _ about _ Skethor, of course- it was filled with small warring factions, the particulars of which changed almost on the daily. Its sky was filled with ash from the volcanic crater in the southern half of the continent. The ash stretched up to the southern portions of the snowy mountains, and left the sky to the north a bit off-color. The ash cloud also encompassed Rounddagger Point during the summer months, and typically hovered over the Islands of Dread to the south of Skethor. Small pieces of Xellion and Ozzen occasionally had their daylight blocked out by the ash, as well, but this was more reliant on the Maw of Hell’s volcanic activity rather than the winds and seasons.

The Keepers, of course, lived in the north, protected from the warring factions in the south by the frigid temperatures and tall mountains. Their ice drakes were more than capable of dissuading individual intruders, and their organization and numbers were typically enough to keep the splintered factions out.

So what had changed? Why had, suddenly, a group become large and strong enough to attack? Where had they gotten the knowledge of necromancy, enough to make  _ undead drakes? _ And not just one or two, but an entire assaulting force, if the Keepers were to be believed.

Lyune’s grip tightened on the saddle and she hunkered closer to Skar. How were they supposed to fight something that didn’t bleed, didn’t breathe? Would a skeleton even care if Skar blasted them full-force with flame? Could it even be knocked out if Almasi got the perfect shot in?  _ Were the riders even human? _

“Lyune. Lyune!” She jerked and whipped around at Ivis’ voice. “Look ahead! What is that?”   
  
“It looks manmade,” Proxis put in, frowning. Zip made a quiet burbling sound, flaring the fins on his back to try and calm his rider.

Lyune looked ahead, and she saw why they were so troubled.

They had almost reached Skethor, and up on the hill above the beach rose a thin, tall tower, reaching balefully up into the sky. She scanned around and saw two others, each a mile down the beach in either direction, and more past that. She wiped the fog off of her goggles to get a better look as they drew closer.

The spire was made of dull gray iron with shining blue lights placed periodically up its sides and corners. It was several hundred feet tall, reaching like an awful claw upwards as if to rend the very sky itself. Blue light sparked and flickered from its top, behind blue glass barriers that stretched from the top up to perhaps waist height. It was tall, imposing, and gave Lyune a bad feeling.

“I don’t know what that is,” she called uncertainty.  _ Does this have something to do with what happened to the Keepers? _ “Squad! Does anyone know?”

Negatives.

“I don’t like how they’re placed,” Proxis told them, tightening her hold on Zip. “They’re too perfect. Too uniform. We’ll be within a mile range right as we hit the beach, and none of them are more than a mile apart.”

“I don’t like this,” Lyune muttered.  _ “Karg! Ine!” _ Her command was echoed down the line, and all twelve drakes slowed in their flight to hover. “Ivis, Proxis, what do you think we should do?”

“Stay here, and send two people up ahead,” Ivis suggested. “Scout it out. It’s foolish to fly a whole squad in there, especially the slower drakes like Cloudwing and Pine.”

“Right.” Lyune swallowed, then hesitated, looking over the squad. They didn’t have a lot of good scouting-type drakes, other than Zip… “Proxis, you and…”  _ Shit. Shit. Who? _ “...Fortra go on ahead, see what’s up, and report back.”

She sounded so official. Like Tygon. She didn’t know how she felt about that.

Fortra moved Telga forward to hover next to Zip, and saluted. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Proxis nodded sharply, and ordered Zip to move ahead. Telga followed, then, in a characteristic burst of competitiveness, moved ahead of him. Zip, as a stream drake, was inherently faster than Telga, a huntress. Proxis wasn’t pushing him, however, more interested in investigating slowly, so Telga seemed to feel like it was a good time to try to show him up, and Fortra didn’t seem interested in correcting her.

Well, let her have her fun. They’d been flying exclusively in formation for nearly a week.

Telga’s dark green form shot ahead, passing up the sleek cyan of Zip. Lyune tensed as they passed over the border of the beach a minute later. They flew for several more seconds, Telga beginning to slow down to start investigating.

The spire in front of them sparked to life, and Lyune would never be able to forget the mental image for the rest of her days.

The lights on the spire glowed brighter and the sparking at the top solidified into a solid light. With a vicious  _ roar _ of thunder, a bolt of lightning arced out and struck Telga, igniting her and lighting up the whole world in its wake. For a brief, awful moment, she seemed to be nothing but a blazing white skeleton surrounded by blackness, ignited by the lightning, but then it was gone, and she dropped like a stone.

Zip screamed and flipped around in flight, Proxis’ terrified commands barely carrying across the water. Lyune shrieked and almost ordered Skar forward, held in place only by her throat constricting as Telga hit the ground with a sickening  _ crunch _ that Lyune could feel more than hear.

Proxis was screaming. Ivis was shocked. Lyune was screaming. Celestis was crying. The rest of the squad was in equal shocked hysterics, but they were abruptly quiet as Telga started to, unbelievably,  _ move. _

But something was wrong.

She moved, but it was like something  _ inside _ of her was moving. Lyune couldn’t see, not clearly, not from this distance, but the red of her blood as something within ripped its way out sent her breakfast climbing into her throat.

And, with horror, the Sleepsun Squad watched as Telga’s skeleton ripped its way free of her flesh, discarding her body and the corpse of Fortra as it crawled out onto the sand. Blood dripped from its white bones, a grisly sight that would haunt Lyune’s nightmares for years, as lightning sparked in its ribcage, illuminating it with crackling blue light. Strings of flesh and muscle clung to individual bones, trailing off where they’d been torn free.

It spread its wings, unnatural blue membrane stretched between the bones as they stretched wide, wider, widest, more than they were ever meant to, and tendons  _ snapped _ on the downbeat, a rain of blood and pieces of meat that had yet to slough off hitting the sand below.

The skeleton of Telga flew off, past the spires, without a backwards glance.

Lyune felt dizzy, sick, horror bubbling up to obscure her vision with darkness.


End file.
